


An Epilogue of a Different Sort

by valerie1972



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Witch Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerie1972/pseuds/valerie1972
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nola returns to Denerim after a long absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Epilogue of a Different Sort

After the long and trying journey, she decided that the gates of Denerim were quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

An hour later, she discovered that she had been wrong. 

 _He_  was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.   _Of course_  seeing him would eclipse the  _home-rest-sanctuary_  feelinginspired by a simple landmark.

Four years of intimate knowledge and almost-crushing responsibility had done nothing to dim the heat that engulfed her when he smiled that sunrise smile. Even when it wasn't directed at her it still made her spine feel like a snake instead of properly rigid. 

She was a ghost in the back of the audience chamber, wanting to watch the proceedings without interrupting them.  The moment someone noticed her the conversations would stop, heralds would sound, heads would turn, and the delicious naughtiness of spying would end abruptly and give way to formality. Let her remain secret for now.

Even without his gilt ceremonial armor he was so many shades of gold it was a wonder that she didn't go blind staring at him.  The simple circlet that currently rested on his brow barely outshone the dusting of pale stubble on his chin. It couldn't compete at all with the flecks of amber in his eyes or the tips of his hair illuminated by the lamps in the hall.  

It was entirely possible that she was biased, but she thought herself fair-minded in almost all other things and so allowed herself the indulgence of mental poetry about her king.

Her lover.

Her friend.

Oh Maker she was ridiculous.

After a quarter hour of discussing tariffs with Arl Wulff, the king made eye contact with her and  _winked_. 

What?  

 _That_  wasn't supposed to happen. She was clad specifically to blend with shadow, and her hair was barely lighter than her tight leathers and hood.  

He spent a few more moments nodding indulgently to Gallagher Wulff and then cleared his throat. The king clearing his throat brought the attention of every eye in the hall, but hers were already glued to him.  How had he rumbled her presence?

"My lords and ladies! I apologize, but I must attend to some other business.  Please excuse me until tomorrow." His grin was so charming that no one, not even Eamon, ever seemed to protest his decision to end an audience earlier than scheduled. 

She slipped out through an already-open side door and then crept up the stairways and down the hallways of the residence floor of the castle until she reached his rooms.  _Their_  rooms, truth be told, but Eamon could only be pushed so far when it came to propriety and so the fiction that they were the king’s alone was maintained in public.

While she waited in the darkness at the corner of the corridor it took only moments for his voice to catch up to her. "I've already conceded two out of the three changes that Gallagher asked of me. If he wants to continue discussing the third, he can bloody well wait until tomorrow." There was a murmur of dissent, followed by his baritone reply. "No, I will  _not_  invite him to dine this evening. I have personal matters to attend to."

She indulged in a small smile: she couldn't help but be proud of the way he had grown into this role. When he resolved to take it they had assumed that she would be there to aid him, to act as a buffer between him and everyone else until he got his bearings.

But then she'd been called away on the business of The Hero and he, the business of The King: her to Amaranthine while him to the Bannorn, her to Weisshaupt while him to Gwaren; always duty seemed to keep them from being together for as long as they desired.  

In two and a half years the longest they had been in the same place at the same time was the three months that they spent searching the Deep Roads: he would not let her face them alone, not now that they knew how Broodmothers were made. 

The fall of his leather-clad feet grew louder, so different from the ring of hobnails and clank of plate from days past.  But as he approached he began to hum a familiar tune: the one song that she could sing without making her companions reach for objects to throw. A dirge, of all things, low and mournful and simple. But it made him smile, if ruefully, and so she sang it whenever he asked. 

He paused, hand on the knob of the door. "You're not going to jump out at me, are you?  My screams are quite unmanly."

A snort broke loose before she could stop it.  Maker's breath, it was unfair how easily he could completely disarm her.  She stepped forward out of the shadows and threw her arms around his neck. He joined in her laughter and spun her around before carrying her through the threshold.

Their rooms were almost exactly as she remembered them. In the anteroom, the stack of books that she'd left on the small table at which they occasionally took breakfast were undisturbed. The one that had lay open when the scout presented himself with news of the sighting remained open, the only concession to her departure a slip of silk he had tucked in the valley between its pages. Likewise, in the bedchamber the chemise that she'd left draped across the footboard was still there and her practice armor had been cleaned and oiled but replaced exactly where she'd left it on its stand rather than moved to the armory.

His sentimentality never failed to move her, and the corners of her eyes burned as she turned to him. "Missed me?"

"You were gone  _forever_ ," he moaned as he drew her into his arms again and began to collect all the affection he was due after this latest separation.

"No," she finally breathed during a break in kisses, "Forever is what we have now that I'm back."

What the Hero, Warden-Commander, and Queen had to tell King Alistair about what she had learned from the Witch of the Wilds could wait until they had properly celebrated her return.


End file.
